A PLEBEIAN LOVER
In need of a friend--My physician offers his friendship--I discover
that he loves me, but he will never confess--I give him
encouragement--We manage to persuade the King to further our
intrigue--Not a bit repentant of my peccadilloes--Very
submissive--Introduced to my lover's wife.
DRESDEN, _in May, 1899_.
Privy Councillor von Barthels, my body physician, is a very agreeable
man. I have no use for his services, _professional_ services at present,
yet insist upon receiving him daily. Still I love him not. Only esteem
him as a friend, I need a friend. Physicians can keep secrets, and I
have many of them. I look upon Barthels as my Father-confessor.
The tears came into his eyes when I told him, and he said: "Imperial
Highness, this is the most beautiful hour of my life."
He spoke with enthusiasm; there was fire in his eyes and in his voice,
yet a moment later he was again the most reserved of men and
conversation lagged.
It happened three days ago. He has paid me four visits since and I
notice with astonishment, with curiosity and with alarm, that this man
is in love with me.
How long has he loved me?
His love is like a warm mantle 'round my shoulders on a chilly night. It
exudes warmth, strength, beatitude, yet there is none of the animal.
He is a good talker on a thousand and one subjects, a thinker and
psychologist. Psychology is his strong point. He argues brilliantly on
the subject, yet I need only look at him to upset his _thesis_, to make
him stammer and redden.
He's no Count Bielsk and will never tell me of his own accord that he
loves me. Is his admiration greater than his love? Perhaps so. It gives
me a feeling of security.
Lucretia knows, but in the presence of the Tisch, he plays the servant,
deeming himself thrice honored by being allowed to breathe the same air
as her Imperial Highness.
* * * * *
DRESDEN, _June 15, 1899_.
I frequently drive to the _Bois_ nowadays with the children, the _Bois_,
where I was so happy with Him.
Romano was right, a thousand times right, that he abandoned me when our
love was at its zenith.
* * * * *
_At Midnight._
It's done.
Barthels came tonight. He was so feverish, so passionate, there was so
much humble solicitation in his looks and manners, I was moved to pity.
This man is too over-awed by my rank to ever permit himself to express
his feelings by word of mouth. He talked of everything but love and was
in the midst of a learned dissertation when I sunk my eyes in his and
said:
"Why do you try to hide things from me? Don't I know what's in your
heart?"
Like a little criminal--as my oldest boy does occasionally--he turned
red, then white, then red again. He buried his face in his hands. He
trembled. He seemed to be crying. I arose, and lightly laid my hand upon
his blonde head.
He's got the finest, silkiest hair in the world, shimmering like beaten
gold.
And then he lay at my feet, covering them with kisses. And instantly all
his force, his courage, his eloquence returned.
He went away like a man a-dreaming.
I long for him; I confess I long for him. Whether I love him or not I
don't know. But that I know, I _will_ love him.
And if I cannot, what matters it? I don't have to love to be happy. To
_be_ loved is enough. I want to be his Queen, his life.
* * * * *
DRESDEN, _July 1, 1899_.
Privy Councillor von Barthels told the King that my delicate condition
needs constant watching. I go to his clinic every second day, while he
visits me once or twice daily at the palace.
* * * * *
Like Melita I am never a bit repentant of my peccadilloes.
If I don't want to do a thing, neither Kaiser, King, George, Frederick
Augustus, my parents, the Pope, nor the whole world, can make me. But if
I resolve to follow my sweet inclinations, rueing and pining are out of
question.
Ferdinand is the most devoted of lovers. He has unlimited
tendernesses--a new experience for me.
The lover of my girlhood days overwhelmed me by audacity. The Shah used
me like a show-girl. Romano was imperious, super-mannish. For him I was
only the female of the species.
Sometimes, in the midst of an embrace, Ferdinand suddenly seems to
recollect that a Queen trembles in his arms; the master turns _ame
damnee_. I am Sultana, Louise-Catherine.
Like Catherine the Great, I would throw millions to my favorites and
millions more when I dismissed one. At any rate, I would give each a
hundred thousand marks "to furnish himself with linen and silks,"--a
_mot_ invented by the Semiramis of the North.
* * * * *
DRESDEN, _July 5, 1899_.
No more clinic for me. Ferdinand begged so hard, that I allowed him to
introduce his wife. She came in after we finished our "consultation," a
little heap of misfortune, execrably dressed, frightened, almost dead
with submissiveness.
And I am robbing this poor creature; it's like stealing pennies from a
child. And under her own roof.
It must not be. I am going to the country.